


Diphenhydramine

by Suiisen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Just soft soft soft, M/M, Technically anyway I guess you can consider it that, self indulgent oh yeah baby oh yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:07:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27190853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suiisen/pseuds/Suiisen
Summary: Staying up late till the early hours of morning, only to be reminded to take care of yourself by someone equally as guilty.
Relationships: Shirabu Kenjirou/Reader
Kudos: 24





	Diphenhydramine

**Author's Note:**

> Ew ew ew this is so old compared to the rest of my work,,,,

00:32 AM.

You could have sworn that those were the digits displayed in the right hand corner of the screen when you last checked, it's cold light blaring mercilessly at tired eyes. The soft tapping of the keyboard ceased as you drew your hands away, rubbing against sleep-heavy eyelids with the base of your palm to draw away the dull ache. It worked, to some extent. Your gaze flicked over to the right hand corner of the screen, bathed half in curiousity and half in dread at what it would display this time.

1:58 AM.

A groan - hands sluggishly wiping at your eyes once more in a half-hearted attempt to fight off imperceptible tendrils of fatigue coiling around limb and finger. Just a few more paragraphs. Just a few more, though that may have been wishful thinking; the document had barely gained in length, cursor flickering softly next to the last string of words marked out upon the page as though to taunt the weary mind for its lack of progress. With a sigh you reach for the cup resting patiently on the desk, swirling around it's contents before bringing the brim up to your lips. 

You grimace; the brew is cold, unpleasant. It's somehow more bitter than you remember it being, too, but that could be blamed on the wave of sleep steadily lapping at your conscience much like waves upon a shore. Well, it would have to do. Fingers already hovering above the keyboard, a soft breath signalling renewed focus as recollected thoughts form before you upon a half empty page.

The tapping of the keyboard masked the gentle click of the door opening, and you're too engrossed - no, maybe too tired - to register the subtle change in atmosphere. It felt...cleaner. Though if your weariness had been palpable before, you could practically taste it now.

"...Y/n. It's 2am."

His voice is soft and tired, though it snaps your attention away from the screen either way, turning to look at him through bleary eyes. He's slouching a little, arms crossed with his shoulder pressed up against the doorframe.

"Kenjirō?" Your words are stifled as a yawn takes their place, hands falling away from the keyboard and into your lap. "You should be sleeping."

There's no verbal response; there doesn't need to be. You can tell by the crease of his furrowed brows and narrowed eyes that the answer is "so should you." The beginnings of a smile tug knowingly at the corners of your mouth, and Shirabu's expression relaxes to its neutral state as he gestures vaguely in the direction of the screen.

"How's it coming along?"

"It's...getting there." You murmur, each syllable gingerly dipped in defeat the same way a child might test the water's temperature before plunging into the depths. "I just need to finish off this paragraph.."

"You need to rest." He corrects, saying nothing more and nothing less; what else it there to add? The sentiment rings true - you know that.

"I know..." You sigh, the slightest hint of hesitation tangible within the low hum of your tone.

"In the morning you'll declare it all slosh and be back at square one, only far more tired and frustrated." It isn't lost on him, that low hum of yours. Shirabu lets it coax a tart retort from his lips; words spoken with your best interest in mind.

Ah...He was right. Why did he have to be right? 

You lean back, nestling the nape of your neck against the backrest. The weight in your eyelids eases them shut; you catch Shirabu's smug half-smile just before they do. There's a comfortable silence, and for but a moment you soak up each other's presence until Shirabu breaks it once more.

"I have some leftover miso and salmon onigiri." There's an unspoken question Shirabu has already answered for you. "Knowing you, you probably haven't eaten for a couple of hours."

Your lips part to protest — the growl of your stomach betrays you. Shirabu had been the refresh point; everything you'd done so well to ignore now flooded in as the barricade came undone.

"I'm not a baby, Kenjirō." You murmur through a tired smile, wiping once more at your eyes. 

"Mm." He's already heading toward the kitchen, hand lingering back for but a second as your last call to follow. 

You swivel in your chair, briefly grabbing the desk to prevent spinning too far around. A few clicks and the screen's cold light finally dies down, taking with it any mind payed towards the freshly saved file waiting for you to pick it up again at a better time. There's an ache in your legs as blood rushes in, forcing you to shake them out before joining Shirabu.

The latter is already in the kitchen adjoined to a small dining area; the table is layered with medical textbooks. The ones left open are paved with transparent post-it notes, Shirabu's handwriting neatly inscribed upon them in black. Loose papers are strewn about on one side; probably articles or research he'd needed to read. You trace the landscape of capitals and monoliths he'd created, fingertips brushing against those annotated pages weighing a little over 100 gsm; it's only then that it really sinks in just how tired he must be too.

"Y/n, could you heat the miso?" He tears your attention away from the table, eyes falling on him.

"Of course." You murmur, placing a quick kiss on his cheek as you pass by to grab the thermos flask and heat the leftovers. 

Two onigiri triangles crackle on a heated pan, the sound almost feathery as the white rice slowly turns to an aureate shade. He flips them over to the other side; the miso slowly starts to steam. 

"How'd Toshi's match go?" You inquire, surpressing a yawn as you turn to him; giving a soup one last stir, you prepare a pair of small bowls and plates. "Did you manage to watch it?"

"Some of it, yeah." Shirabu flips the onigiri onto one of the narrower sides as he speaks; there's a frustrated flicker in the hues of his eyes - the minimal warmth it provides brings out a bemused smirk from you. "One of Ushijima-san's spikes were received by Karasuno's former number 10..."

"With his face like before?" You muse, flicking off the heat in the stove. 

"No, it was a blasted clean receive too." He responds; it's a low and bitter sound, begrudging in its praise. "They couldn't get all of them though - Ushijima-san's kills are as powerful as ever."

"Trust Toshi to almost rip your arms off with those shots." You chuckle, then mutter a soft 'hot hot' whilst splitting the soup between you, roughly the same portion in each bowl — though one had considerably more tofu than the other. Shirabu snags the aforementioned bowl with a self-satisfied grin before you can level out the amount.

"Veeeeery mature, Kenjirō." You're too tired to protest, though it draws out warm laughter all the same.

"Mhm."

The landscape of books and papers on the table had been transformed by the hand of its creator to clear a spot for you. You both hum a quiet thanks for the meal; the outer shell of the onigiri is crisp, though the rice inside retains it's fluffy chewiness. Trust Shirabu to grill even left over onigiri to a perfect degree. 

"Did they win?" You swallow a bite, blinking at Shirabu. He's almost done with his food, taking a sip of the miso.

"No, they lost the game." He grumbles, finishing the sentence with another mouthful.

"Ah. Well, they'll get the others. Kageyama's setting for Toshi now, isn't he?"

"Yeah - though Ushijima-san is likely going to be going abroad at some point." A wistful smile passes over his features; it goes as quickly as it came, that ghost of a smile not unlike the spring breeze, bringing nostalgia scented cherry petals with it.

"Do you miss it? Volleyball, I mean." You ask, setting down your now empty bowl.

"...Sometimes." It's a small smile; bittersweet, though one that had come to terms with the situation — he'd chosen to discontinue volleyball, after all.

There's a comfortable pause enveloping the room; the two of you finish the last of your late night meal. Your plates and bowls are left on the side of the sink to take care of in the morning; it's sleep you need now.

"Hey Kenjirō?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."


End file.
